Page 5 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

N icholas rode along with his hood pulled up over his head to ward off the renewed drizzle and cursed under his breath. His day had just radically deviated from what he’d been planning.

He had the sinking feeling it wasn’t going to right itself anytime soon.

He’d set out very early that morning from Artane, happy to escape his grandmother’s clutches and content to be on his way to doing something useful. He’d anticipated an uneventful journey to Wyckham with the only highlight being a brief pause at Nigel of Ledenham’s building project to see if progress was being made. It wasn’t often that he bothered to observe the king’s justice being meted out, but watching Ledenham be forced to build an abbey as penance for calling a man a warlock was certainly such an opportunity—and one to be enjoyed.

Especially since the accused warlock was his sister’s husband, Jackson Kilchurn.

Of course it was utter rubbish, that accusation, but Ledenham had made such a spectacle of himself spewing it out that the king had finally thrown him out of his presence with the command that he use his time in some useful endeavor, such as building an abbey, if he ever wanted to enjoy royal favor again. It had been fitting and Nicholas and his brothers had enjoyed it immensely. The only thing that chafed was that the abbey was to be built but a hearty day’s walk from Wyckham.

Nicholas had expected to see Ledenham making his masons’ lives miserable. He hadn’t expected to find him preparing to burn a witch.

He would have rescued the woman sooner, but he’d been too astonished by her beauty to do aught but stare at her in amazement.

He regarded her presently from the comfort and privacy of his hood. To say she was lovely didn’t do her justice. She was radiant, with cascading red curls and the face of an angel. He watched her ride in front of him and wished that he wasn’t having such a difficult time catching his breath. It had been one thing to have merely caught a glimpse of her before he’d set to the pleasurable task of plunging Nigel of Ledenham into unconsciousness; it was another thing to have stood and looked at her thoroughly as she stomped about on a muddy patch of ground as if she expected it to do aught but squelch under her shoes.

He’d never seen anyone like her.

He knew, with a feeling deep in his gut, that he never would again.

Who was she? He’d heard her give Montgomery her name, Jennifer McKinnon, which he supposed could mean she was Scottish. She spoke Gaelic, which meant that she could have come from the Highlands. But if that were the case, why did she find herself a hundred leagues from her home, without escort, family, or gear?

Perhaps she had merely been out for a bit of a jaunt and lost her way. Perhaps she had been traveling with a company and wandered off.

Perhaps her beauty had rendered him witless as well as speechless.

He shook his head to try to clear it. There was likely a very reasonable, logical explanation for her sudden appearance so far from where she should have found herself. In time, he supposed he would learn what it was.

If she remained with him long enough for him to do so.

He cursed again. Damnation, but this wasn’t what he’d wanted. He’d just managed to escape a keep full of wenches; he certainly hadn’t intended to find himself saddled with another one so soon. He had a roof to repair, then a future to contemplate, a future he was sure held such delights as sitting in his great chair before the fire, turning to fat, grumbling about the fare, and complaining about the rain that made his knees ache. He didn’t want the distraction of a woman who was so mesmerizing that he couldn’t look away from her even when he knew he should.

“John,” he bellowed suddenly, “make haste!”

John kicked his horse into a gallop. Jennifer followed without hesitation. Nicholas brought up the rear, cursing in as many languages as he could and finding satisfaction in none of them. He cursed until he was interrupted by the sight of Wyckham rising up before him. It wasn’t a large keep, and it was nothing compared to the fortress in France that was his by right of his title of Count of Beauvois, but it was close to Artane and for that reason alone he found it tolerable enough.

The afternoon sun had broken through the clouds and was shining down upon the pale stone of the walls and turning them quite a lovely color. That was, unfortunately, the only thing that he found pleasing about the sight of the place.

It was difficult to believe that after well over a year of regularly sending his steward gold to make repairs, the keep was still missing its front gates. Of course, it was also missing the portcullis and other necessary defenses such as a garrison and a blacksmith to make them swords, but since he didn’t have any serfs, defenses weren’t much of a concern at present. Unfortunately, no peasants meant no one to till his fields and that meant that he had had no crops planted that spring and would have no harvest come fall.

It was tempting to turn around and ride for France.

But he was no coward, so he pressed on.

He pushed his hood back off his face as he followed his little company from the gates and up the way to the modest stables that stood across the courtyard from the not unsubstantial great hall. He looked about him narrowly. The stables were in disrepair, the garden was full of weeds, and the rest of the courtyard looked as if no one had lived in there in, well, at least a year. Aye, his steward would have much to answer for.

But first things first. He swung down off his horse and went to take hold of the bridle of Montgomery’s. He waited, but Jennifer McKinnon made no move to dismount. She merely looked about herself as if she could not believe what she was seeing. Finally, she seemed to have seen enough and turned to look down at him. Something on her cheek glistened.

Ah, by the saints, not tears. Was the place in so terrible a condition? Or did she grieve over something else?

He didn’t dare speculate.

Instead, he held up his hands for her. She looked at him in surprise, as if she wasn’t quite sure what he intended. He imagined she didn’t. It was possible that chivalry wasn’t the order of the day where she came from.

Eventually, she leaned over and put her hands on his shoulders. He helped her off the horse, set her on her feet, then released her immediately. He took a step backward. He didn’t want to touch her. He didn’t want to hold her. He most certainly didn’t want to think about the fact that she smelled like sunshine and wild flowers and that her hair where it had touched his hands and face had burned him like fire.

He turned to Montgomery. “Show her into the hall,” he rasped. “I’ll remain without and see to the horses.”

“As you will, Nicholas,” Montgomery said with wide eyes. He went over to Jennifer, spoke to her kindly, and offered her his arm. He led her off toward the great hall.

Nicholas didn’t want to watch them go, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was tall, that McKinnon lass, and slender, but not frail—though he had to admit she wasn’t all that steady on her feet at present. She was oddly dressed, in blue, heavy hose and a tunic finer than anything he’d ever seen.

Clothing he suspected was not to be found in the wilds of Scotland.

He turned away before he could think on that further, scowled at John just on principle, then took the two horses and led them into the barn. He might have wished for a stable master, but it wasn’t an ill thing to be forced to tend to the beasts himself. At least it gave him something to do besides think.

He finished, retrieved the appropriate saddlebags, then waited for John to see to his own mount. He watched his younger brother, still a little surprised that the lad was capable of managing a horse so large. Then again, John was ten-and-seven, surely old enough to do many things Nicholas had managed at that age.

John finished, retrieved his own gear, then pulled up short. “What is it?” he asked in surprise.

“You’ve grown,” Nicholas remarked.

John rolled his eyes. “And you’re daft. Of course I’ve grown. With any luck, I’ll have my spurs in a pair of years—if Father can see his way clear to find someone to see to it—and then perhaps I will be even taller and more skilled than you.”

Nicholas smiled. “Do you think?”

“I’m a hopeful lad,” John replied promptly. He looked Nicholas up and down. “I don’t suppose you’d want to finish my training, would you?”

Nicholas was rarely surprised, but he found himself so now. It was an effort to not show it. “It would be an honor.”

“Done, then,” John said. “Assuming Father will allow it. ’Tis possible he might not want me being soured by your vile humors.”

Nicholas started in surprise, then realized that John was teasing him. He grunted. “I’ll attempt to check them.”

“Can you?” John asked, scratching his head in an exaggerated fashion that was so reminiscent of Robin, Nicholas had to suppress the urge to throttle him. “I wonder.”

“Do you want me to leave you weeping in agony on the field tomorrow, or not?”

John only grinned at him, then strode on ahead. “I hope supper is ready.”

“I have the food!” Nicholas called after him.

John only waved and continued on his way. Perhaps he wanted a seat by the fire. Or perhaps he wanted a seat next to Jennifer McKinnon. Nicholas supposed he could understand that.

He followed his brother across the courtyard toward the hall, but was interrupted by his steward running up breathlessly to him.

He suppressed the urge to put the man to the sword. He should have rid himself of Gavin of Louth long ago for the thievery he’d perpetrated over the past pair of years. Nicholas supposed he would be fortunate to find anything at all left in the larder or in his coffers. And to think he’d come so highly recommended.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Gavin said with a fawning bow.

“And yet still everything is just as I left it,” Nicholas said, pointedly.

“I know you don’t care for change, my lord.”

A few weeds pulled in the garden and perhaps the acquisition of a cook who could produce something edible were changes he could have lived with. And when had he ever given the impression that he did not like change? The whole bloody place needed a change—in the form of a renovation from top to bottom.

“I should tell you,” Master Gavin began uneasily, “that we’ve nothing prepared for supper.”

“We brought things with us,” Nicholas said. “I’ll sort out the larder in the morning.”

“It has been a very lean winter, my lord,” Gavin warned quickly. “The larder is not as full as I would like.”

No doubt because most of its contents found themselves deposited in Gavin’s ample belly.

“Nor are the coffers,” Gavin added.

“I’ll sort that out as well. Not to worry.”

Master Gavin heaved a huge sigh of relief, obviously thinking he had escaped justice. He smiled happily, then leaned forward. “Now that we’ve settled that, if I might inquire about the woman—”

“Or you might not,” Nicholas suggested.

“I heard her speaking Scots to your brothers,” Gavin continued on heedlessly. “I assume she is a wench of that breeding, no doubt quite wild in her ways—”

“She is lost,” Nicholas interrupted firmly, “and in need of refuge.”

“She is beautiful,” Gavin said, smacking his lips.

“She is my guest,” Nicholas said sharply, “and not to be studied thus.” Never mind that he’d spent the past pair of hours studying Jennifer McKinnon himself. At least when he admired a woman, he didn’t leave everyone around him feeling as if they desperately needed to bathe. “I think we won’t leave the ledger until tomorrow. Bring the accounts to my solar now.”

“But, my lord!” Gavin squeaked. “It has indeed been a very difficult year—”

“The accounts, Master Gavin.”

Gavin looked at him and seemed to consider. His fingers worked, as if he couldn’t stop himself from counting gold that had ceased to flow through them. He squeaked a time or two, then turned suddenly and bolted for the front gates.

Nicholas knew he shouldn’t have been surprised.

He strode after his steward and caught him just outside the castle walls. He stopped him long enough to trade him a handful of gold coins, the clothes he was wearing and his life in return for the key to a trunk that Nicholas suspected would find itself in Gavin’s chamber, full of everything of value that Wyckham possessed. Once he had the key in hand, he booted Gavin in the backside and sent him sprawling.

Too kind a fate, truly.

Gavin scrambled to his feet and fled. Nicholas watched him until he had disappeared into the trees, then turned and walked back into the courtyard, cursing in disgust. He suspected that whilst he might find a few things in Gavin’s trunk, he wouldn’t find the bulk of his funds. No doubt they had been spent on food and drink, things he could never recover. Well, there was nothing to be done about that now. All he could do was move forward.

He turned around and walked across the courtyard, ignoring the stables that needed refurbishing and continuing on to the lists. He found his stone masons finishing their work for the day and setting up their own cooking fire. At least here he might have pleasant tidings.

They were a diligent lot, which he knew from his time spent working with them on Amanda’s keep, Raventhorpe. Actually, the keep belonged to Amanda and her husband, Jackson, warlock extraordinaire. Nicholas had learned, over the past year, not to hate his brother-in-law as intensely as he had at first. And to think his family complained about his sourness. He’d been passing polite.

He wondered what it would have been like to have been a mere mason. It would have been a good life. Simple. Uncomplicated. Lacking some of the things that he rather enjoyed, such as fine food, French wines, and beautiful music.

He stopped next to the head mason, Petter, and smiled. “Making progress inside, are you?” he said.

“Aye, of course,” Petter answered with a smile. “But this is a difficult case.”

“Less chilly than Raventhorpe, I daresay.”

“That, my lord, is truth indeed.” Petter looked upward. “It is the roof that troubles me. It wasn’t done properly the first time.”

“And your solution?”

Petter smiled. “Do it properly this time.”

“And what you mean by that is ‘replace the entire roof.’ ”

“You’ve no furniture inside to be ruined or moved out,” Petter said.

“That is an aye, then.”

“It is.”

Nicholas sighed deeply, watching more of his gold disappear into the bottomless well called Wyckham. “Very well,” he said. “Be about it as you see fit.”

“I could attempt to save the most of it.”

“Think you?” Nicholas asked, hardly daring hope. “And will it be sturdy enough, do you think?”

Petter seemed to consider. “I imagine not, actually. What you might consider is an arch in the hall to support the roof, and a fine gallery on the second floor. Open to the hall below.”

He paused. “Aye, gallery all around, with arches and fine details. You could place musicians in that gallery, and have their sweet music waft down to please your discriminating ears.” He smiled. “Very lovely.”

“Very expensive.”

“Elegant.”

“Time-consuming.”

Petter laughed. “I’ll sketch it out and show you before we begin. It would give you a se’nnight to decide where you’ll stay whilst I’m renovating.”

Nicholas pursed his lips. “Perhaps I should see to the stables sooner rather than later, that I might have a dry place to sleep.”

Petter smiled. “That would be my suggestion.”

Nicholas grunted and walked away. He liked Petter, not only for his unvarnished opinions and inventive mind, but for the practice of Gaelic when the mood took them both. They had spoken it exclusively at Raventhorpe, which had pleased Jake and annoyed Amanda. Petter was polite about it, though. He would only speak it if Nicholas spoke it to him first. That would be useful, considering he thought that perhaps he might not want Jennifer knowing he could understand her tongue.

He ignored the subterfuge and the fact that he would likely overhear nothing that would serve him.

He picked up his saddlebags from where he’d dropped them to pursue Master Gavin, slung them over his shoulder, and made his way up the steps and into the great hall. He hadn’t managed to get halfway across it before he came to an abrupt halt.

Montgomery had found a stool for Jennifer and was currently handing her a cup of heaven knew what. Jennifer accepted it with a faint smile.

A smile that almost brought him to his knees and he wasn’t even the recipient of it.

By the saints, she was lovely. Lovely and lost and the saints only knew what else. He’d forgotten, whilst he’d been outside, just how lovely she was. He’d forgotten, for those few moments, what he’d been given.

Er, been saddled with, rather.

She drank, then set the cup down next to her on the floor. Even from where he stood, Nicholas could see that her hand trembled. She turned to the fire and hugged herself. She smiled again for Montgomery, but it was a strained smile.

Nicholas knew he should have gone over to her and offered her his aid, but he didn’t dare for a variety of reasons he didn’t want to identify.

He realized, quite suddenly, that his brother Montgomery had come to stand in front of him. That he hadn’t noticed him right off said much about the state of his wits.

“Nick,” Montgomery began, looking supremely uncomfortable, “not to be too familiar, but... well... don’t you think...”

“I try not to,” Nicholas said dryly, “but you’re full of thoughts, apparently. I imagine you’re going to share them all with me whether I care to hear them or not, so you’d best be about it.”

Montgomery took a deep breath. “I daresay the lady Jennifer should, well, I think she might be more comfortable if she had other...” Montgomery had to take another deep breath. “Other clothing,” he finished miserably.

“Montgomery, did you by chance bring any other clothes with you?”

“Aye.”

“Then offer them to her.”

“Aye,” Montgomery agreed, then he paused. He looked far too serious for his own good. “Nick, you don’t think—”

“I don’t.”

“But she has no French, Nick. And look at how she’s dressed! Surely that means—”

“It means nothing. Give her clothing, Montgomery, and leave it at that. And bid her take Gavin’s chamber. He won’t be using it anymore.”

Montgomery shot him a look of uneasiness, but did as he was told.

Nicholas turned away. He didn’t think. He thought nothing about Jennifer with the flame-colored hair, nothing about her clothing, and nothing about her lack of French. He thought nothing about the fact that she had no horse, no gear, and no kin nearby—nor did she seem to be looking for any of them.

He supposed he could hope that Ledenham had it aright and she was a witch. She might remain for a meal, then fly away.

Unfortunately, thinking on Ledenham reminded him that Ledenham had thought his brother Jackson Alexander Kilchurn IV was a warlock. Jake wasn’t a warlock, but he was definitely from a place that was strange.

And a time that was not their own.

Nicholas looked at Jennifer McKinnon, then closed his eyes briefly and winced. When he opened his eyes, she was still there. Still dressed in those strange trews that Jake called jeans. Still dressed in a tunic that looked so costly that even he might have hesitated to have it fashioned. Still dressed in shoes that were far beyond the art of any cobbler he knew, and he knew the finest in London and Paris.

Nay, she was not from Scotland.

At least not the Scotland of his time.

He dragged his hand through his hair and cursed briefly. He had passed the last year and a half snorting at every private conversation in which anything of Jake’s travels through time had been discussed. He’d mocked his brother-in-law for his fanciful imaginings, his departure from good sense, his delu-sional dreamings. He had vowed that he would never believe that a man could travel hundreds of years from the Future back into the past. He had sworn that it simply was not possible and anyone who believed the like was nothing short of mad.

That he now should have a woman of Jake’s ilk under his protection was almost more irony than a man should ever be called upon to endure.

It was enough to make him think he just might have to sit down.

But that would have made him look weak, so he decided that the next best thing was to repair immediately to the kitchens where he could rummage through the saddlebags and see if he could produce some sort of supper before they all fainted from hunger. He could reasonably be expected to perhaps sit whilst he was doing that.

He crossed the back of the great hall and escaped into the kitchens before he had to look any more on a woman who was most definitely not from his time and therefore most definitely not for him. Fate was behind all this; he was almost sure of it, poking her nose in his affairs just like his grandmother. Perhaps Fate was a female as well. He wouldn’t have been surprised.

Damned nosey women, the both of them.

Unfortunately, he suspected that Fate was even more tenacious than his grandmother and that was a frightening thought indeed. Who knew what her tenacity would give him?

A woman from the Future placed in his care as if she’d been meant to be put there. A woman he couldn’t look away from when he was within a hundred paces of her. A woman so damned beautiful he couldn’t catch his breath when he was around her.

Just what in the hell was he supposed to do now? Ignore her and hope she went away? Ignore her and hope her kin came looking for her? Ignore her and hope his good sense returned before he did something foolish like offer to allow her to stay as long as she liked?

Nay, he could do none of those, especially the last. He would see that she was fed, clothed, and housed. And when she decided that she wanted to return to the Future, then he would let her go willingly and have no regrets.

But until then, he would ignore her.

It was the only thing he could do.